


The Diner

by madame_alexandra



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Love, Nostalgia, Visions, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6627415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_alexandra/pseuds/madame_alexandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deleted scene from "Life Before His Eyes." Jenny gets her moment to show Gibbs what might have been if he had only confided in her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Diner

**Author's Note:**

> A take on what Jenny would have 'shown' Gibbs if Lauren Holly was available for the milestone episode. Predicated on the fact that open communication/honesty is the best way to have a good relationship.

_** The Diner ** _

 

From the red plastic stool, he watched the younger version of himself argue with his father—he watched Ari play chess with Vance, and he watched McAlister, bobbing his head in tune with that old song he’d picked on the jukebox.

“That guy,” scoffed a voice behind him, and somehow, he knew she was talking about McAlister. “Turned out to be a real piece of work—but, you gotta thank him for something. 

He turned around slowly, pivoting on the stool, and she smirked.

“Or—someone?” she corrected, cocking an eyebrow.

She smiled, her tongue caught fetchingly between her teeth, and he was looking at Jenny—not Jenny as he had seen her moments ago, in the blue shirt she’d died in, but the Jenny he had known in Paris; her hair was long, her bangs swept across her forehead, and there were no stressed, worried lines around her mouth. He even—startled, he realized he remembered the lilac sweater she was wearing; she’d worn at dinner, one evening at the Eiffel Tower.

 He swallowed.

“You.”

The word escaped his lips, almost in wonder.

She laughed and lifted her chin a little, propping her elbow on the counter and resting her cheek on her palm. There was a plate of pancakes—pancakes with powdered sugar—in front of her, and she fiddled with a decanter of maple syrup. She clicked the mouth of the little pitcher open and closed indecisively.

“If McAlister hadn’t tried to cover his ass over Eli David and Vance’s failure,” she said, and shrugged casually, “we never would have worked together.”

He inclined is head, and pointed at her.

“You here to tell me what would have happened if we were never partners?” he asked gruffly.

She shook her head, eyes on him. The syrup decanter clicked soothingly.

 “No,” she said simply. “That is something—I was never shown.”

Gibbs gave her a look. He gestured around.

“You guys know it all, though,” he said. “Right?”

He was mesmerized looking at her, at the greenest green of her eyes and the stunning red of her hair. It all—everything—looked so pure here; so untainted. Unfiltered. Beautiful. He squinted is eyes, as if looking into sunlight, and she laughed, tilting her head off her hand a little.

“You think we’re ghosts, Jethro?” she teased—and he had _missed_ hearing her say his name like that. “You aren’t in heaven—this isn’t quantum physics, either.”

He wasn’t sure he quite understood the reference. He let his eyes go over her—and then around the room again; his mother was cooking behind the counter, something fried and delicious he remembered from childhood, and Kate was smiling in a corner, holding a baby, rolling her eyes at DiNozzo. He glanced back at Jen, and he nodded his head at her plate.

“You gonna eat those?”

She smirked, and then she tipped the syrup and smothered the powdered sugar pancakes. He frowned—remembering how much he hated that she used to ruin perfectly good pancakes that way, in Europe.

“ _Oui_ ,” she said smugly, and sawed off a bit with a fork.

A smile touched his lips as he watched her eat, and he waited patiently—each and every person he had run into in this eerie diner trap had words of wisdom for him, and he waited to see what hers would be. She chewed, and swallowed, and licked her lips, sighing quietly. She blew hair off of her forehead.

“Is this—what if you hadn’t died?” he ventured gruffly, trying not to betray any emotion.

She shook her head slowly.

“You would have to ask, _what if I had killed Svetlana_?” she corrected. She lowered her lashes, and shrugged, eating another bite of the breakfast. “But that is irrelevant, Jethro. I—die,” she said simply. “The diner—the Mojave—it only sped up the inevitable. Svetlana or no Svetlana.”

His jaw clenched. He looked around, and his eyes found Ducky—blithely having coffee with Fornell. The X-rays, the secret blood tests—why hadn’t she told anyone? He turned back to her, and she arched her brows.

“So,” he said curtly, a bit abruptly. “What’s your ‘what if’?” he demanded.

He wanted to know—what her part was, in all this.

She bit her lip.

“It isn’t my what if,” she quietly. She nibbled on the edge of her fork, and then pointed it at him, eyes boring into his intently. “Is it? It’s yours,” she reminded him, and then straightened up. Her hair fell over her shoulders. “What if you had told me about your first wife, and your daughter?”

He remembered asking—

_If I had told you about my first wife, would it have made a difference_  

She had said—

_We’ll never know, will we?_

And suddenly—they weren’t sitting in the diner, and he wasn’t watching her eat pancakes—

 

* * *

 

_He was standing in the basement, but the lights were on—and that was odd. The boat was skeletal, just began, and he furrowed his brow. He looked around and saw himself sitting by the counter, concentrating on --_

_\--twisting a toddler’s hair into thin little braids, while she kicked chubby legs and squirmed impatiently under his grip._

_“Daddy, make it pretty!”_

_The other Gibbs nodded, and pressed a kiss to her temple while he worked. There was the sound of a door slamming upstairs, and then a loud crash and a thud as suddenly a blue and red mass came streaking out of the shadows under the basement stairs._

_“Jasper,” Gibbs barked sharply, turning abruptly, but the older kid was already clattering up the stairs._

_Gibbs turned to follow, torn between watching himself braid the little girl’s hair, and following the boy upstairs—and which would this phenomenon allow him to do? He stayed put, standing awkwardly—and then, the boy reappeared, and Gibbs got a better look at him—auburn hair, sharp green eyes, and a smug, lofty grin on his face. He was dragging a woman by the arm._

_“Hey, Dad, look what I got,” he gloated._

_“Mama!” The toddler shrieked, yanking her hair out of the other Gibbs’ grip and standing up. He saw himself catch her in his arms, no doubt to keep her from falling, and stroll lazily over to the stairs._

_The little kid—Jasper—in a Superman shirt—jumped up and down. The little girl reached out—and the woman took her, and in an instant, Gibbs realized it was Jenny._

_She smiled and hugged the toddler, stroking her lopsided braids. She laughed at the antics of the little boy—and the other Gibbs leaned forward, cupped her cheek, and kissed her on the mouth._

_“How was the security conference?” he asked gruffly._

_“Full of euro-cops trying to hook up with me,” she said wryly. She tossed her head. “And no, I didn’t.”_

_She grinned dazzlingly, and hugged the boy at her legs again. She looked down at him._

_“Miss me, Jasper?” she asked._

_He nodded._

_“Daddy let Kate wear your green shoes,” the little boy tattled._

_Jenny gave the other Gibbs a look, and kissed the toddler—Kate—on the forehead. The child touched her braids._

_“Daddy made me pretty.”_

_Jenny smirked._

_“Daddy’s pretty needs work,” she observed._

_Gibbs swallowed, and took a step back—and the Jenny next to him, the one who appeared out of nowhere, who had been in the diner—giggled._

* * *

He blinked rapidly, his head spinning and yet stock still at the same time. He was on the stool again, and Jenny was lounging next to him, biting off pieces of powdered sugar pancake and watching him thoughtfully. He leaned back, and then rested his elbow on the counter, and rubbed his jaw. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a moment. He gestured his hand.

 “Kids?” he asked.

She lowered her lashes demurely.

“They were cute, weren’t they?” she murmured. She licked her lips, and tilted her head back. She put down her fork and sat up again, and then she knocked her knuckles together lightly, eyeing her hands. “There was an unbreakable barrier in our relationship,” she said reflectively. She unfurled her hands, and showed him her palms. “Your family,” she said, nodding at one. “My father—Colonel Shepard.” She shrugged. “If you had told me, I would have known—I could trust you. With everything, no matter how long it took,” she sighed, smiling in a tired, happy way. “And what we had…Kate, Jasper…it took a long time. A lot of healing. But,” she made a motion with her hands, as if vanishing something, “no barrier—no _Dear Jethro_.”

He could hardly wrap his head around it. It had just never occurred to him to daydream about what might have happened if he had made more of an effort with Jenny; he had always been to bitter about her departure.

He grit his teeth.

“That’s what would have happened if you hadn’t left me?” he asked.

She shook her head, a tense look touching her eyes. She smiled sadly.

“You never did understand that I didn’t want to leave you. I had—“

“—to do what was best for you, yeah, I know,” he interrupted tersely.

“Yes,” she said. “That—but I had to go. You forced my hand. You do not see what would have happened if I hadn’t left.”

“Then what—“

“Don’t you understand?” she asked, eyes shimmering softly. “Me leaving was about me. Self-preservation. Personal turmoil. If this were my diner, if you were my life before my eyes, then I would see what would have happened if I hadn’t left but you—I am showing you what if you had told me about your loss?”

He was quiet for a long time, processing it all. Finally, he leaned closer, and he looked at her intently, memorizing those young green eyes.

“All that,” he said hoarsely. “Those little kids, all that…if I’d just told you…about Shannon and Kelly?”

She leaned forward, and put her hand on his cheek. There was an easy peace in her eyes. She said nothing—and then he tensed up, he narrowed his eyes.

“You were sick,” he said.

She inclined her head, and bit her lip.

“I die,” she reminded him simply. “I was never meant to live into my forties, Jethro,” she said softly.

“I would have lost you anyway.”

Her lips turned up. She lifted her shoulders, and shook her head. Her hair danced at the edges. He nodded, understanding.

“I’d be happy,” he guessed. “Kate,” he said. “And Jasper.”

She laughed, and turned back to the pancakes. He leaned closer, and put his hand over her fork, meeting her eyes.

“That’s what I missed out on?” he asked earnestly, his heart pounding. “You? Forever? That’s what would have happened?”

She blew powdered sugar off of her fork.

“No, Jethro,” she said softly. “It’s just—what might have happened. It’s just a glimpse of what—the twitch of a butterfly’s wings can mean.” She lowered her lashes, and bit her lip, smiling at him. “The smallest choice can change the outcome events, but we never really know—what would have happened,” she leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. “There’s a children’s book that explains it very nicely.”

She pushed her empty plate away, and slipped away, leaving him sitting there, swearing he could smell her perfume—and then he stood up, to pick up a bullet off the ground, and when he straightened, he was face to face with his Kelly.

“Hi,” she said. “You look lost.”

**Author's Note:**

> originally published on fanfiction.net.


End file.
